


but believe me, i'm fine

by SoloChaos



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:49:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoloChaos/pseuds/SoloChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>(but i'm lying, i'm so very far from fine)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	but believe me, i'm fine

**Author's Note:**

> Very very very triggery. 
> 
> I'm sorry I'm having a shit night and

"I'm fine," Josh says, because he is. He's fine.

 

Josh watches Tyler as he flies around the stage, alive as ever, and Josh feels something.

Josh feels _jealous._

Josh feels jealous, _jealous_ of the man who manages to turns his fears into something practically tangible. Jealous of the man who comes alive every night, who inspires every kid in the crowd before them. Jealous because Josh can't feel what Tyler's feeling. Jealous because Josh doesn't feel alive.

Josh is swimming through his world, always floating, never quite touching sand, surface, or shore. Never making an impact.

He's not even moving fast enough to make a ripple.

 

 _They raise the dosage of pills you take, and you hate that. You hate those fucking pills. You hate that chalky, bitter taste. And you fucking_ hate  _the constant reminder that your brain chemicals are wrong, you are wrong, and your fucking serotonin isn't fucking_ good  _enough to make you_ happy.

 

Josh is wrong, he's all wrong, and he has no purpose. He's just going to live and he's just going to die and maybe a couple people will remember him but then they'll die too. He has no purpose and he has no reason and _oh fucking god why is he alive._

Josh takes a shaky breath (and another and another and another and another) before hesitantly smiling at himself at the mirror.

(He's ugly, he's fucking hideous and _wrong_ but) he will be just fine.

 

He wants to climb out of his own fucking skin, he wants to tear himself apart, and he knows that however many times he cuts himself he'll never shake off this- this _feeling_ that has lodged itself in his chest.

 

Tyler buys him Taco Bell, Tyler buys him Red Bull, Tyler buys him everything Josh used to love to eat.

It's just that Josh isn't hungry anymore.

 

He wants to rip his skin away, he wants to tear his body apart, he wants to hold his heart in his hands and _squeeze_  it until it stops beating, cradle his lungs and _crush them_ until he stops breathing.

He is not beautiful.

 

_So maybe you take one too many sleeping pills sometimes on the off chance that it'll be enough to ensure that you will never wake up._

_If only life was like a light switch. You'd flick it to darkness._

 

He wants to kill himself, he wants to _die,_ he wants to rot into the dirt, he wants flowers to grow from his decayed body, because maybe then he can be _pretty._

(Stupid. So stupid. Flowers die.)

(You will never be forever.)

 

Oh god, oh god, he's breaking up into little pieces and he doesn't know who he is or what he's doing.

He was born to die just like everyone else and nobody will ever remember him.

 

He can't find anything but himself.

 

_Swallow, yes swallow down any truth you have. Let the lies come bubbling up like pus from a septic wound._

_Honesty is the best policy, they told you. But if silence is golden, then lying by omission must be too._

_Oh, yes, you're fine._

 

Tyler told an interviewer once that he couldn't do anything that he didn't believe in one hundred percent.

Josh didn't back him up.

Josh doesn't believe in anything.

 

Josh swallows hard, taking a deep breath before digging his blade into his skin. There's nothing _romantic_  about this. There is nothing _beautiful_ about slicing into your own skin. It's frantic, it's painful, and it hurts and it's bloody and Josh is ashamed, always ashamed.

This is not a statement, this is not a cry for help.

This is just a desire for blood.

Self harm doesn't _do_  anything for him anymore, he knows this, but what he doesn't know is how to stop.

He doesn't want to know how to stop.

 

There's some... some _feeling_ settled in his chest. He's anxious, he's so anxious. He wants to crawl away to someplace where nothing can touch him, he wants to hide himself from everything, he wants to bury himself alive if only so no one ever finds him, he wants, he wants, he _wants..._

Oh, how he fucking _wants._

 

 _Oh, god, oh fucking god. You don't know what's fucking_ wrong _with you. Why can't you be normal? Why can't you be happy?_

 

Lord above, he doesn't know who he is.

He just knows that the pulling, grabbing... _feeling_ in his chest won't go away, and it's enough to make him pull his own body apart. Fuck, but he doesn't just want to crawl out of his skin, he wants to crawl out of his own body.

Who is he? Who knows? Will anyone ever know? He doubts it. He doubts it so fucking much. He's a waste of life. He's a waste.

He's wasting away, he knows that, he owns a mirror. His body is becoming hollower. At least _something_ finally matches how he feels inside.

 

_No one ever prepared you for the nastier things in life._

_No one ever told you that you'll have darker moments ahead when you were a child. No one ever told you that you'd one day fantasize about murdering someone, about killing yourself. No one ever told you that people are dark, dark creatures with dark, dark thoughts, and that more people than you'd think give into them. No one ever told you that you'd think about rape, and people would think about raping you. No one ever told you that you'd fantasize about shoving a knife into someone's chest and laughing as their blood filled their own lungs. No one ever told you that no one ever grows up, that everyone remains a child, that the ones you call adults are just children, except those children have guns._

_No, no one ever told you these things, and it was a rather unwelcome surprise for you._

 

Tyler knows now.

Josh wouldn't have told, except when Tyler looked him in the eye and asked if he's self-harmed recently, Josh turned into a blubbering mess.

Tyler's been walking on eggshells around Josh now, and that's utterly ridiculous. Josh isn't going to explode, no, he's going to crumple in on himself.

He's already started.

He hates moments like these, when he's laughing and joking and all of a sudden everything snaps back to him and he can't function at all.

 

_You can't breathe, you can't fucking breathe, and Tyler is yelling about you leaving your stuff in his bunk and all you want to do is die. You stand there, tears streaming down your cheeks as Tyler yells, and when Tyler finally demands why you're crying you blurt that you try hard, you try so fucking hard, please stop yelling, he's only making you want to die more. Tyler immediately apologizes, walks over and hugs you, and you swallow your sobs because you don't want to drip your tears onto him. You don't want him to carry your problems, too._

_Oh, and you do it again. You've been doing so well, but it's inevitable that you fuck up._

 

Josh hates crying. He hates it. It makes him feel weak. It makes his head hurt, too, and if his sobs are harsh enough, they make his throat hoarse.

After crying, he just feels drained, and he wants to cry when he feels drained except he can't.

 

He wants to kill himself.

He wants to die.

He wants to cut himself.

He wants to hurt.

He wants to punish himself.

He wants to feel.

He wants...

Oh?

Oh, he's fine.

_You're fine._


End file.
